


Turn

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: In the wake of an official report of the prisoner, Jim knows where he stands.





	Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BotanyCameos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BotanyCameos/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for BotanyCameo’s “7. “I hate how much I love you” Khirk “it's implied or something that Khan has been on probation on the Enterprise and Jim was very suspicious at first but they fell in love anyway”” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jim rolls his shoulders as he exits the turbolift, trying to shake the stiffness out of them, though it seems impossible—another long talk with the brass has left him thoroughly exhausted. He understands their skepticism. He understands what’s at stake. He knows some want brutal revenge and others want a prime weapon properly utilized, but all he can do is report the progress he sees day after day, three into the second year. He never mentions the toll it’s taken on him _personally_ —the way his mind’s been changed, not just in forgiveness, but in transitioning from hate to sympathy, to respect, to _more_. He always hopes they can’t see it in his eyes.

He finally reaches guest quarters. He hopes that none of the crew he passes note or talk of it, though he knows starships are a powder keg of gossip. Everyone aboard probably knows where his loyalties, however reluctant, now lie. The doors part for him without so much as a press of a button—on his ship, no doors are barred to him.

In these quarters, he may as well be home. They’re smaller than his but immaculate, not a hair out of place in the sparse living room. He wanders through to the bedroom, half expecting a pleasant surprise, because the computer terminal is empty, and that’s where his welcome usually sits. But the bed is empty too. In the background, he can hear a faint pitter-patter. It takes him a second to realize it’s the hum of pouring water. 

The bathroom door parts just as easily. He slips into the tiled space, lightly filled with wafting steam, a red uniform and black pants thrown over the towel rack. Jim gives the set a double take—the red is new. 

It doesn’t stall him long. The shower’s on, and it’s impossible for him not to walk the rest of the way forward, coming right to the edge of the cubicle. The curtain isn’t drawn, and the circular area is bare for Jim to see. The nozzle in the ceiling bursts a steady stream of clear water, spilling down across the broad shoulders of a certain infamous augment.

When the admirals judge Jim from afar, even when his own crew whispers _how could he_ , they couldn’t possibly understand. They don’t spend long nights together, sharing hopes and dreams and hearing marvels, half-buried truths and bureaucratic evils. And they don’t know what Khan looks like in the shower.

There’s never been a more handsome specimen. Even Bones has admitted it—from a ‘medical’ standpoint, of course—and Jim’s sure there isn’t a single soul aboard who hasn’t _thought about it_ by now. Khan is an Adonis. He looks best wet and glistening, drizzled here and there as little rivers trace all his curves, his lines and tones, the hump of his taut pecs and the tight dip of his hips, the round jut of his rear and the creamy expanse of his thighs. Jim eyes every part of it, and his early troubles seem to melt away. For all the horror he’s gone through for this, he _is_ lucky. His gaze climbs Khan’s chest again, reaching Khan’s chiseled face, and his mouth seems to water.

Khan glances idly at Jim, neither turning towards nor away from him, and purrs, “They don’t believe in privacy in this century?” Even such light teasing seems a deep flirtation in Khan’s erotic voice, deep and lilting. Jim lets it wash over him with a familiar tinge of pleasure—that was the first thing to get to him.

He counters, “Probation doesn’t afford privacy.” After a moment’s pause, during which he fully appreciates Khan’s lengthy use of the old fashioned water shower rather than the instantaneous sonic kind, and Jim adds, “Neither does being with me.”

A languid grin stretches across Khan’s bow lips. He nods as if to acquiesce, then turns his face against the spray, and Jim looks away to avoid imaging coating Khan’s face in _other_ things. 

The uniform hung against the wall will do for starters. Glancing pointedly at it, Jim asks, “Why red?” He doesn’t bother to elaborate what red he speaks of—Khan will know. Khan always knows.

Khan murmurs while his hands run back through his dark hair in Jim’s peripherals, “Isn’t that what your yeoman wears?”

Jim snorts. “You want to be my yeoman now?” He won’t deny the thought is tantalizing. Especially if Khan were to adopt the minidress like Jim’s current yeoman wears. It would take a bit of tailoring to make sure it covered Khan’s full ass and sizeable package, but Jim’s sure they could manage. 

Khan drawls easily, “I do have to start from the bottom up this time, don’t I?”

Before he can stop himself, Jim’s quipped, “And I know how well you handle the bottom.”

Khan just grins all the wider. He lets his hands leave his hair, his long fingers sliding down his throat instead, pausing to rub across his chest like grinding in soap. Jim follows each little movement. It helps take some of the edge off when Khan finally looks at him again and quietly asks, “How did the meeting go?”

Not awful, not good. The usual. It seems too bothersome a subject to bring up in a heavenly situation like this, but Khan’s heated gaze always manages to drag the truth out of Jim somehow. After a moment of internal struggle, Jim admits, “Other than feeling like a traitor?”

Instantly, Khan frowns. But he doesn’t press it. They both know the reasons now, and it’s been too long for Jim to dwell on. Most days, he doesn’t. And then Starfleet calls him up and asks how their favourite parolee is doing, and Jim has to try and be as unbiased as possible, even though he comes here right afterwards to ogle Khan’s ass. 

Khan seems to see the struggle in his eyes. He silently offers one hand, the invitation clear. 

Jim sighs, “I hate how much I love you.” But he does. And he takes Khan’s hand as he steps inside.


End file.
